


That Sinking Feeling

by wickedrum



Category: White Collar
Genre: Emetophilia, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Gen, No Plot/Plotless, Whump, whump for the sake of it, worried co-workers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23775304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedrum/pseuds/wickedrum
Summary: Set: At the beginning of the Season 3 Premiere, Peter interrogates Neal intensively into the early hours of the morning. We never see how much.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey/Clinton Jones, Neal Caffrey/Sara Ellis, Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey
Comments: 13
Kudos: 101





	1. Red Herrings and Departures

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately I wasn’t in the fandom when White Collar aired. It’s really regrettable because it seems to have been such a whump orientated fandom! Every moment where there was any potential for hurt/comfort has been exploited to the maximum. I’m late to the party so I think there’s barely anything left to explore in this area, but my muse likes to reimagine things and doesn’t let go. 
> 
> Disclaimers: When I am writing, it's foremost for my own pleasure. 
> 
> Pairings: canon and not important to the plot.

“Peter.” Jones wasn’t one to openly question his superior often, but at this moment, there was a certain degree of tiredness and exasperation that seeped into his voice as he repeated, “there was no indication at any point that Caffrey would be lying, however we approach the subject.”

The Special Agent In Charge slapped the top of the table and stood, turning around to gather his thoughts. “Are you alright, Caffrey?” Jones’ gaze was fixed on the readings.

“It doesn’t matter if he’s alright or not!” Peter was angry, slapping the table again, “ask the questions once more. He’s gonna tell us everything he knows, sooner or later. Look at me Neal. Look at me!”

“Peter, to be honest, I don’t think we’re going to get any reliable readings at this point.”

The older man glanced at the polygraph himself, “but we did get something! What’s happening? Why are these lines all over the place! You said he wasn’t lying!”

“Well, that’s the thing, they’re getting muddled up just the same no matter the question. They’re muddled even when he’s clearly asked to say something that’s obviously true.”

“Great, so he’s cheating it somehow, right?”

“I don’t think so. Don’t you think it’s weird we’re talking about him right here and he’s not even looking at us? He is sweating more and his pulse is faster but his blood pressure is down.”

“So? That means he’s maybe about to crack.”

“So,” Jones stood to draw his superior a little bit away and whisper into his ear, “I think it may mean he’s just genuinely not feeling well,” he nodded his conviction, “nothing to do with the test. Have you seen how pale he is?” 

“Damn well he should be after what he’s done. It doesn’t matter..” Peter was interrupted by Neal pushing himself away from the table so the torrent of vomit bursting out of him promptly as if on cue didn’t cover the polygraph machine at least. 

“Told you..” The Special Agent frowned at the acrid smell immediately assaulting both their nostrils, “no result you get would be reliable at the moment.” It’s not that he would ever want to shy away from work, but it was really late after all. 

“Why, he’s probably faking it and tricking us again with it all,” the older agent was past being reasonable at this point. 

Jones gave him a sceptical look, “boss, we had him under close surveillance for the last 12 hours. In other circumstances, I would be the first to accuse Caffrey, you know that, I just don’t think he had the chance to cook up anything that could affect him like this. Let me save the equipment at least,” he stepped over to undo the blood pressure cuff and release the wires attached to Neal’s fingers and chest. 

“Yeah, alright,” Peter had to step away, pace up and down so he could think and fume some more, “you’re probably wrong, but let’s have a break anyway.”

“Are you okay, Caffrey?” Jones put a hand on Neal’s shoulder. The conman had stopped puking, but had his free hand round his belly and was even more pale than a couple of minutes before. 

“Not sure, but thank you for trying.” Yet another honest answer from the con artist. 

“I’ll get you some water,” the Harvard graduate took initiative. When he came back into the room about a minute later, he found a rather different situation with Peter holding onto his protege’s arm, presumably to steady him. Neal looked woozy, his head falling forward, his eyes closing. 

“Hey, should I believe this?” Peter was still not convinced. 

“There’s no reason why faking an illness should help Caffrey in this situation much,” Jones knelt next to the criminal, “do you want the water?”

Peter watched as his charge took the plastic cup to his lips with a shaky hand. “Don’t think I’m finished with you. I’ll get to the truth, sooner or later. Let’s take him home, Jones,” The Suit sighed with an eye-roll. 

Neal placed the cup onto the table and used the top for support to stand up. His legs were jello and the effort made him lightheaded and he ended up staggering back onto his chair. “Okay?” The younger agent leaned closer. 

“Bit woozy now,” the conman dropped his head onto his arm on the top of the table.

“When did you have something to eat last?” 

“Well, I was in here for most of the day and surprise, Peter had other priorities,” Neal did lift his head a little for the accusation. 

“Peter?” Jones frowned questioningly at his superior for once. 

“Alright, alright, this isn’t Buckingham Palace and I forgot to feed him, but that doesn’t mean he should be in this state!”

Neal shook his head, “not your fault really, I had an upset stomach since yesterday.”

“See? Then why didn’t you say so!”

“Would it have made a difference? You wouldn’t have believed me, like you don’t believe me about the treasure, right?”

Peter grunted his displeasure and irritation. “You’re a grown man, you should be able to ask and take care of your own physical needs! Should I hold your hand too when you go to the toilet?”

“Can you stand?” Jones was thinking about the practical matters of the task he was given. 

“What? Yeah,” Neal rubbed at his forehead before rising. He looked pretty shaky but would rather not appear any more fragile in front of hostiles than he had to. Jones must have not been convinced however as he put out a steadying hand. Just as well because the sudden altitude change did not do too many favours to his aching belly to the extent the movement made it cramp up and he had to pause and bend over, his head swimming, vision blurry. 

“Back down, back down!” He was surprised to hear Peter’s concerned voice and being supported from both sides to help him sit again.

“He looks like he’s going to pass out,” Jones gave his opinion.

“Neal?” Peter had his protege’s jaw in his palm to get him to focus, but the younger man’s eyes were closed.

“We might have to lie him down,” the younger agent was concerned. 

“Well, how do you feel?” Peter finally took a deeper interest.

“Stomach hurts. Dizzy, nauseous, worn out. But don’t want to lie on the floor and I didn’t steal anything from the u-boat.” 

“He can speak, he can lie, he doesn’t need to lie down,” the man in charge translated as if that would have been needed. 

“I do need to lie down, in a bed at home,” Neal was really aiming to stop the interrogation session this time. 

Peter still grumbled, but his concern for his ward did win over the suspicions this time, “let’s get you up then,” he nodded at the other agent to provide support at the other side. Even so, he was surprised by how much Neal wobbled when starting to walk so he ended up holding an arm around the conman’s waist that he secured even more tightly round him when they reached the stairs. 

Neal wasn’t sure of the whole moving manoeuvre. He had to concentrate on breathing through his nose like clockwork, otherwise the nausea was too intense. The thief was aware that the other two were talking, presumably in regards to how to get home, but the criminal was too busy focusing on keeping himself from vomiting all over the office floor to hear it. The jolt of the lift was another hurdle for his stomach to conquer and the effort made the world around him spin all the more. “But what’s wrong with you? Did you take something to be able to cheat the polygraph? Is that how it works?” Peter’s accusation reached him through the haze, though the older man looked more worried than annoyed.

Neal didn’t reward that ludicrous claim with an answer, but it did make him want to distance himself from the enemy, “I can walk by myself,” he braved the dancing walls, pushing himself away and forward to find himself at bottom level in the car park as opposed to the ground floor leading out to the street, with Jones nowhere in sight. 

“Don’t make a scene, I think I’m taking you home instead,” Peter asserted and kept an arm around the younger man’s waist to lead him to his Ford Focus and prop him up against it while he fidgeted with the keys. “Do you need..”

“Do not,” Neal cut him off as he climbed into the car without help. Some of his dignity was already out the window, so he just leaned back, glad to be sitting already. 

“Okay?” The agent checked before turning the ignition, “is this a good idea? You’re not going to puke in my car, right?” 

“Promise, Peter,” Neal spat contemptuously. Why did he ever forget that the older man was on the side of the FBI and when it came right down to it, he would never believe a conman could become reformed. He did worry about the drive home as well in case the movement was going to make his nausea worse, but he wasn’t going to admit that. 

Tbc


	2. Street Lighting

Chapter 2: Street Lighting

Neal barely made it out of the car and onto the pavement, hands first as he practically fell out the door before finally letting his cramping belly do what it wanted to do all along and get rid of the surprisingly larger quantities than he expected stomach juices. Peter stood awkwardly beside him, waiting for him to finish, not quite feeling the connection between them strongly enough for the time being to reach out to comfort him. “Sorry Peter,” Neal tried to clean his mouth of the foul taste by swallowing it down. 

“What’s happening? Okay to go in?” The older man felt awkward. Miffed that Neal probably conned him, but not right about having interrogated him so strenuously when he wasn’t feeling well. Neal had been infuriating as usual. 

The consultant pushed himself up, taking a moment to lean against the car till he could get his legs to feel less jello. Peter stayed close as they made the few steps to the front door, but did not touch him as Neal did not look in the mood for it. “Do you think you have anything useful in the apartment to settle your stomach?” He tried to be helpful nevertheless. 

“Don’t think so..but I’ll just sleep some.”

“Fine. I’ll see you up and then I’ll maybe go buy something for you if necessary.”

Neal would have argued, but going up the stairs to his loft was making his legs heavy and his head light and suddenly there was a strong arm around his waist that pulled him up, “wait, I need to sit down,” the criminal pleaded, not wanting both of them to tumble down the flight of steep stairs.

“Sit down here?” The agent paused, letting him lean against the railing, but keeping a strong grip. 

“Mhm, stairs,” Neal sounded like fighting with nausea again. It was only Peter’s readiness and receptiveness that kept him from hitting his head into the edge of the stairs when he went down, but the older man managed to ease him onto a step successfully and prop him against the rails, still not letting go. 

“Are you going to pass out? Vomit? You okay?” Peter needed to know what he was dealing with.

Neal gave a weak headshake, though it wasn’t nearly as convincing as his usually impeccable deceiving skills. “It’s just..my stomach hurts too much.”

“Should I not take you to a hospital instead?”

“What? Don’t think so,” Neal mumbled. 

“Okay,” Peter paused for a moment, contemplating his own take on the question he had asked before deciding, “let’s get you into bed and then we’ll see what else is needed. Ready?” He positioned himself to be able to grab both under Neal’s arms from the step below, “I would appreciate it if you would tell me if you think you might fall over again.” 

“I didn’t fall, thank you,” the conman argued, holding onto the wooden railing to take back control. His fingers were shaking and so were his legs and there was a darkness his aching eyes couldn’t completely overcome, but he made it into the apartment without much help, pillows in sight inviting and urging him forward. Peter eased him into the bed and got rid of his shoes.

“Easy. If you’re moving me quite so much I’m really going to puke,” Neal curled up around his stomach. 

Peter shook his head and checked his temperature again, “so you don’t want to take your clothes off?”

“Ah, did you just offer to take my clothes off?”

“I will if I need to,” Peter kept serious, “I’m supposed to keep you out of trouble.” 

“This isn’t the kind of trouble it was meant to be about.”

“Suit yourself. Do you have tea at least? El swears it helps in cases like this.”

“I have tea, somewhere. I don’t want tea.”

“Water then. Don’t fall asleep till I go get it,” Peter moved over to the tap to put a little water into a tumbler, then handed it to his charge. Neal eyed it sceptically for a while, half between aiming to set it down onto the nightstand and spilling it with how weak he felt. Peter didn’t seem to be in the mood for his disobedience right now though, so he raised the glass to his lips to take a couple of sips. 

“So is it food poisoning or what? Tell me.” The agent could never let a bone go, “nobody’s had this kind of bug in the office lately.”

Neal leaned back against the headboard, nursing his stomach, “I don’t know Peter, I just know it’s rather uncomfortable, cheers!” The conman’s patience with interrogations was wearing thin.

“Will you be alright for the night alone?” 

“What night? Are you offering again? It’s almost morning.” Neal accused him again. 

“Do you need anything else?” Peter changed tack, “medicine, ginger ale, a cold or warm compress?” The agent took hold of the covers and deposited them closer to the robber so he did not need to move to reach them. 

“For you to go home to your wife.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. There was no way to help those who did not want to be helped and Neal had always been the prime example for that. “Oh well, I’ll be back here to pick you up for work. Be ready but don’t go anywhere without me,” he consoled himself with the fact that the timing of that would not be very far indeed given the late hour.

Tbc


	3. Curtain Call

Chapter 3: Curtain Call

“Neal?” Peter got a clue to the location of the conman as soon as he entered the apartment in the morning without knocking as usual. “You want some help?” There were retching noises coming from the direction of the open bathroom door so Peter was quite surprised that when Neal stumbled out a moment later he was fully dressed and ready to go. 

“Um..what was that?” The agent gestured towards the bathroom, “a lot doesn’t add up on this one..”

“Breakfast. I should have maybe skipped it, but hindsight and all that, impressive you know.”

Peter regarded him with a frown. Neal looked rather pale, but a lot better compared to the night before. “We have big plans lined up for you for today, but you should be on your A-game for it. Come, we’ll swing by medical to see if they’ll clear you for it.”

“So we’re back working and handling everything as a team? No more the third degree grilling?”

“For now. Till I can reconsider that angle,” Peter glanced back as they reached the stairs, remembering how dangerous they seemed for an unsteady Neal the night before, “you’re sure you’re okay?”

“You’re either worried about me or you accuse me. You can’t have it both ways,” the younger man was still fuming about the way he’d been treated the night before. 

“I worried about you before we even ever worked out a lucrative deal because a life of lies catches up to you. So yes, I can,” the agent was ushering his charge towards his car in a way that felt and looked like manhandling without him even touching the criminal, “oh,” he remembered, “about that puking in the car business again..”

“I have nothing left in my stomach, you don’t need to worry,” Neal would have rolled his eyes but he knew that wasn’t a good idea when nauseous. It was before rush hour so the journey shouldn’t be more than ten minutes. His calculations were way off however because it wasn’t much more than a moment after Peter joined the one way traffic that Neal’s stomach knotted itself into a burning ball that he felt lurching, “no more, pull over,” he panted and closed his mouth shut with a fist. 

“How am I supposed to do that!” Peter indicated towards the cars blocking him in all directions. He cast an exasperated glance at his charge before reaching into the glove compartment and pulling out a soggy sack he must’ve kept flowers for El in at some point so that they didn’t stain the seats. That he dropped into Neal’s lap, “I’d rather you don’t but if you must..” 

The conman would’ve normally objected to using such an ungentlemanly container as well, but the smell and sight of the item didn’t do many favours to his unease and so he had no choice but to promptly stick his head into it and throw up. He had been right about no food being in his stomach as all he puked up was saliva and stomach acid, though that didn’t alleviate any of his heaving and the breathlessness inducing cramping of his belly. Neal felt a soothing hand on his back and Peter seemed to have edged out from his lane. They were now going faster instead of stopping. “Why are you telling me you’re fine when you’re clearly not!” The agent shouted over the sounds of the gagging, “you’re impossible!” 

Neal pulled instinctively towards the door as much as it was manageable under the circumstances, certain that the incident didn’t make Peter’s antagonism towards him any less. It was a while before he was sure he could raise his head out of the bag safely and get himself together, “I’m sure a sick day isn’t an option today out of all days as I remember,” he referred to their earlier arguments. 

“That depends,” Peter frowned at him worriedly, “one thing at a time.”

Neal closed a bag and held it away from himself, “I will be sick again if I have to hold this. Please stop.” He sounded pretty desperate.

“We’re almost there as you can see,” the older man gestured towards the street. 

To Neal’s surprise they were indeed almost at the office parking lot. “Mmm,” he clamped his free hand over his mouth, trying to stay as still as possible despite Peter’s mad driving he was otherwise quite used to by now. The agent understood he had to free Neal of his seatbelt himself before he could fall out the car, onto his knees, in a very similar process to his performance from the night before. The heaving produced some more questionable liquids, bag falling from Neal’s hand onto the ground, contents mixing with the rest of the mess. 

“Damn it, Neal,” Peter watched him struggle with controlling his breathing, hand clawing at his belly as if that would have somehow helped. The agent pulled out his cell, connecting quickly, “Jones? Are you in the building? Yeah, I need you to come down to the parking lot. It’s Neal. He’s sick again. Bring a bottle of water.” He then took to kneeling next to the younger man and rubbed his back, “it’s okay, we’ll get you seen by a medical officer in a moment.”

“I don’t want..” Neal didn’t get far before having to wrestle with the sensation of his stomach threatening to explode upwards even though he had to stop the guiding hands trying to move him away from the small puddle at the same time. Peter was gentle however as he sat him back against his body sitting down on the ground and that way it did not end up setting off another wave of heaving, but Neal felt like it was hard to lift his head. 

“I don’t want to either, but we’ll sit here till Jones comes and we can get some water into you,” Peter established, clearly worried himself despite trying to reassure him. 

“I would like some dignity left after this for another time,” Neal objected without having the means or resolve to truly reject the help. Talking wasn’t a good idea either as it heightened his nausea and he moaned, the next wave of retching bringing up nothing. He wanted to stop himself from shaking with weakness, but his whole insides were burning as if he’d ingested acid. 

Peter held him tight, the more he was weakening. It felt nice and grounding and Neal had to remind himself that he hated his handler right now, hands and all. “Do you need to go to the hospital?” Peter’s voice sounded benevolent and soft coming from right next to his ear. “You have to tell me if you’ve done something that could endanger your health or I can’t help you.”

Neal’s eyes snapped open and he pushed himself away, disbelief at being accused again giving him the energy that it needed, “don’t worry, I feel better now,” he collected himself huffily, standing up with jerky movements to a bent over, barely standing position, using a pillar as support. 

“Hold on. Here, this should help,” Jones arrived with the water and uncapped it for him before handing it over, having watched the last bit of the interaction on the go. The cold liquid felt refreshing as it went down, neutralising some acid in his throat, but then it collected in a hard ball in Neal’s stomach. 

“To the medical room with you.” Peter ordered sternly, cornering him again as if worried he would fall over while walking. Neal wanted to push him away repeatedly, but he didn’t quite trust himself to be able to manage either. His head was swimming, especially with the elevator moving and soon he was held up by both agents from two sides again while sweat was collecting on his brows. It was hard to focus on anything else but the piercing agony of the pain that wasn’t letting him straighten up, so the walk was pretty hazy till helping hands manoeuvred him up onto the top of an examining table. He shouldn’t have argued because the nurse present took one look at his belly while attempting to palpate it and sent for an ambulance. 

Tbc


	4. Rubber Stamp

Chapter 4: Rubber Stamp

“My stomach hurts bad,” Neal moaned on the hospital bed in the emergency department. Now that it was indisputable that there was something wrong with him, he did not miss any opportunity to blame the agent for the aggravation of his troubles. 

Peter didn’t even mind. He was shuffling nervously beside the intravenous fluid stand Neal was attached to. So far, they only knew the younger man was dehydrated and that the attending resident was keen on a number of tests and not willing to provide much treatment till the investigations were done. “Just relax and try to get some rest, Neal.”

“Yeah, and how should I do that pray tell with this pain.”

The agent frowned uncertainly, “do you want me to call Sara?”

“Why? Do you need to urgently interrogate her now too?”

“Should I? It might be useful,” Peter admitted. 

“You can do that in your own time if you don’t mind.”

“Mozzie? Should I call the little guy over for you then?”

“Mozzie would freak out and make a fuss. I don’t think I’m up for dealing with that. He’s seriously like a mother and pappa hen at the same time sometimes.”

“Right, well, do you realise it’s just me then,” Peter attempted settling down himself on the chair beside the bed. 

“Do you really expect me to blabber secrets out in my sleep?” Neal grumbled, turning to side to nurse a new cramp blooming in his stomach. 

“It has crossed my mind. Are you likely to? I should spend the night more often then.”

“It actually upsets my stomach that you still don’t trust me after all this time,” the conman teased, swallowing down by a real urge to vomit again as pain overwhelmed him. More annoyingly, the result was that he felt his hold on his normally perfectly astute mind to start to loosen. It’s not that he might indeed give things away, but he hated not being the brainiest in the room.

“Is that what it is responsible?” Peter challenged the jest.

Neal reached for the sickbowl, doubling over it with a wince. He should have known there was nothing to upchuck and the struggle made him breathless. Peter was by his side immediately, holding him up from the back. It would have been so nice just to take the comfort those arms offered, but their current relationship didn’t allow for that. So he moaned, prompting Peter to rub his back gently. “They said you can have ice to freshen up your mouth, then spit it out. Nothing else in case you need surgery.” 

The patient held his hand up for a chip of ice to be planted in it, but as it was trembling, Peter decided just to pop it into his mouth, waiting with his palm under his chin till Neal was ready to spit it out again after swirling it around. “Better now?”

“No. Sorry to tell you the truth.” Neal’s voice was decidedly weaker, but at least he was leaning back on the pillows, not about to spew his guts out. 

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have asked such a stupid thing,” Peter frowned, “just hold on. I’ll try to find out what’s going on,” he peeked out from behind the curtain, looking for any of the medical staff that had attended Neal, “one thing. I might need to go find someone. Will you be okay on your own?” Turning back, he found the younger man leaning over the bowl again, his hand desperately clutching his belly as he looked like just about to pass out and face forward off the bed too. “Come on!” Peter guided him backwards with a strong grip, “damn it!” 

“This is the point you normally start flashing your badge about like an entitled alpha orangutan. You don’t like other people not working to your pace. And you sound like someone who’s never been to an ordinary emergency room before. They won’t come any faster unless I’m actively dying. Even then..”

Peter rubbed a hand across his face, shaking his head, “so I understand you don’t want special treatment? You’re shaking bad. And you’re sweating at the same time.”

“Of course I want special treatment. I also like pointing out the error in your ways. It helps keep my mind off the pain. Ow, shit, that’s a bad one,” he leaned against the support provided by his on and off friend, overtaken by another cramp that was only getting worse and worse. He clutched at Peter’s arms as they were wrapped around him. 

“No, no, you’re going to be alright, it will pass,” Peter felt compelled to reassure him, feeling Neal’s need for comfort and not to be left alone right at this moment.

“What’s wrong with me? Why do I still feel like throwing up?” Neal out and out whined, settling back onto the pillows shakily. 

“And you don’t want me to kick up hell to get you treated immediately?!” Peter had enough. He was going to get answers even if he had to drag a doctor in by their ears to yield results.

Tbc


	5. Fret Machine

Chapter 5: Fret Machine

“Are you sure?” Peter stood in the corridor with the attending physician, somewhat puzzled, “but then why is he so ill?”

“I can assure you, it’s completely normal to get severe cramping and dehydration with food poisoning.”

“But you don’t even know what kind of food poisoning! From what?”

“We have to take comfort in the fact that his liver and kidney function is not far from normal levels. Going by the X-ray, a surgical consult is not necessary at this point.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. He’s in agony over there and you’re calling it a little stomach upset?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Peter shook his head, “I don’t understand. Does this mean he’s maybe faking it?”

“Absolutely not. Blood screen indicates a high number of leukocytes that happens when the body fights an infection. He’s also severely dehydrated. That is what needs to be addressed foremost. We can give him something for the pain as well and I recommend some level of sedation till he’s over the worst. Mr. Caffrey will be closely monitored for any changes or escalation of the problem and I will get a gastroenterologist consult for confirmation.”

“I understand,” Peter said reluctantly, still not completely convinced. “So how long will he be sick for?”

“It’s hard to say. But assuming there are no complications, I’d expect a week.”

“What complications? You said it was just food poisoning, right?” 

“We can discuss that when or if it becomes relevant. You have to understand that his whole digestive system seems affected so we cannot be sure.”

“Well, get sure and get him better then,” Peter wanted to dismiss the doctor and never to have to talk to him again. Too irritating. Instead, he turned back to look at the other man, “but he needs something for the pain, now, that I know. Can you..”

“His assigned nurse is already in the middle of administering treatment. Anything else, come find me,” the physician nodded at him in parting. 

Peter raked through his hair in frustration and entered Neal’s hospital room. The nurse was indeed there, administering something into the patient’s intravenous line, “that’s it, it should kick in a few minutes.” 

“Thanks for that,” Neal winced, not looking very convinced. With his breathing quite erratic, the position he took curling up around his stomach and the complete disregard of the nurse’s comely features, Peter wasn’t so sure either, “did the doctor talk to you yet? Sorry, got caught up with a phone call earlier.” 

“Okay. He did, yes.”

“And what he was saying, does that sound feasible for you?” Peter was still worried. 

“Don’t ask me, I don’t know..but maybe I will feel better after some rest.”

“Do you feel able to rest now?”

“The previous dose or whatever I was given while you were out was already helping. I think I can. I’m way too exhausted not to be able to.”

“Alright, I don’t know, we’ll see how you are after,” the agent regarded him suspiciously. Since when did Neal Caffrey not question what he was given? He must have been feeling very unwell indeed. 

“Why are you hovering? Do you still think I’ll make a run at it with the treasure?” The younger man tried to find a more comfortable position for sleeping. 

“It has crossed my mind, now that I know you’re not dying,” Peter admitted, “anything is possible when it’s about you.”

While looking dejected, Neal only slid lower on his pillows, taking up a sleeping position, “you’re lucky I feel too sick to do anything, like get angry.” 

Tbc


	6. Marching Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Neal isn’t here for your interrogations!” El pushed her husband back, “will you let him rest or should I go stay at his loft to take care of him there instead!” She gave her ultimatum.

Chapter 6: Marching Orders

“You’re worse than a jailer,” Neal swatted at Peter’s hand as he tried to help the conman out of the car in front of the agent’s Brooklyn home, “and less fun than any prison sentence I’ve had. I can walk.”

“Up the stairs too?” Peter hovered, “no avoidance tactics, please!” After nearly a week in hospital, his charge seemed frailer than ever. 

Even Neal knew he couldn’t afford himself the luxury of pretenses and not hold onto the railing. The door was already opening and he couldn’t quite bring himself to reject Elizabeth’s help too up the last couple of steps, “honey, are you alright?”

“I don’t know but they let me out, so I must be.”

El shared a perturbed look with her husband, glancing backwards as she led the sick man to the couch. “Did they give you instructions? What do we know?”

“He has to rest,” Peter answered instead, “got a list of things he can try to eat.”

“Hand that over at once! Until then, I’ve got some steamed veggies and potatoes, no flavouring, should those be alright?”

“And he got a little sick on the way here so maybe later,” the agent advised. 

El shook her head, “still? I thought they weren’t going to let him out till they were certain he’s stronger and could keep his food down.” 

“I can mostly keep it down. And I’m right here, strong enough to hear you,” Neal complained about being talked about, though the concern was warming his heart. 

“Lay back, hun, we’re going to follow advice,” El fussed over him on the couch while Peter provided a blanket and pulled Neal’s shoes off.

“Yeah, I can do that myself,” the patient gestured towards his legs, but curled up on the sofa anyway. 

“You poor darling,” the dark brunette pouted her sympathy, “any more nice clues about why he got so sick?” She resorted back to talking over Neal to save him the bother of having to get involved with answering, but she did pull her husband towards the kitchen for a bit more privacy. 

“Oh yes, the results came back. It’s some sort of campylobacter or what. Food poisoning in other words as I understand.”

“Food poisoning? Are you sure? He’s been way too sick for that.”

“That’s what they said. Believe me, I had them test for everything. You never know in our line of work and with Neal’s background. They did say there was a high concentration of bacteria, suspiciously high.”

“So how did he get it? Was it somebody’s doing? Maybe Adler’s?”

“No, I don’t see how and when..but then again there are a lot of unknowns in this whole treasure equation.”

“Important thing right now is to get him better. If it’s really him who took the art, there’s plenty of time to figure it out later.” 

“But did you manage to get hold of Mozzie?”

“No, sorry. I have tried several times,” El gathered some crackers to give to Neal from the cupboard. 

“See? I told you something was going on. There’s no way he’d disappear on Neal like this when he’s sick. It’s something like a symbiotic relationship between them.”

“Later,” his wife waved him off again, going over to their guest, “can I put this here on the stool? So it’s close to you if you feel like you could take some. Here you go. Feeling any more settled now that you’re stationary?” The woman showed sincere interest towards the criminal as usual. 

“I’m alright,” Neal tried one of his reassuring, disarming smiles, “crackers sound quite ideal right now actually, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it. Anything else, just ask! I’m your assigned nurse staying at home with you for the next couple of days.” 

“You don’t need to do that! I can manage, I’ve had a lot of practice at it, with my job.”

“Which reminds me, any clue where your rogue caper of a sidekick is? El will start to miss him at this rate.” Peter wanted to know.

“Mozzie? He’d say I’m his sidekick. Or the very least, that we are a team. He does disappear from time to time and doesn’t tell me a thing.” Neal was somewhat annoyed about that himself, but he knew that people like themselves needed to keep their secrets. 

“Yeah? When was the last time you saw him?” 

“Neal isn’t here for your interrogations!” El pushed her husband back, “will you let him rest or should I go stay at his loft to take care of him there instead!” She gave her ultimatum. 

Peter stood there halfheartedly frowning for a moment before holding his hands up in surrender, “fine, never mind. I’ll just be over here with my files if you need me,” he was hoping Neal would at least take an interest in their latest case. 

“And I’ll just be in the kitchen to try to concoct something that isn’t likely to upset your stomach,” El smiled at the younger man, “I’m going to watch the smells too as much as possible, I know how it is when you’re not feeling well. Got anything to suggest for me to make?” 

“I really can’t think about food, sorry,” Neal held his belly.

“I’ll not badger you then. I’m just worried because it seems that you have lost weight and it’s not like you could afford it to start with,” she shared a worried look with her husband, “but no more talk, as I promised,” El made sure Peter got out the way too and the guest had peace.

Tbc


	7. A Peg Or Two

Chapter 7: A Peg Or Two

While Neal was desperate for some privacy so he could get out of the sights of two pairs of suspicious eyes and move back to his apartment, he had to admit that a week of being pampered and mollycoddled by the Burkes had been rather enjoyable, to the extent he felt somewhat tempted to play on it for a little bit and utilise it so Peter wouldn’t go back to his doubtful self and challenge him. But sooner or later, he had to face reality, like Mozzie waiting for him in the apartment, relaxing on the couch. “Where the hell have you been? Disappearing like that after you loot a boatload of treasure could look a little bit suspicious even to me, don’t you think?”

“I’m known as the outside man, okay? Where the hell have you been, Neal? I’ve been here! I’ve been waiting for you here every day!”

“You should have asked someone instead of just sneaking in every day! I was ill, Moz. Peter didn’t want me dealing with it alone.”

“You mean he didn’t want you out of his sight. No loose ends. But he’s convinced now, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, but convinced of what?”

“Convinced that you couldn’t have taken the treasure because you were too busy being ill. I made sure of that.”

“Made sure of that? What do you mean? You couldn’t have! You don’t want to say it was your doing?”

“Yeah, I put some bacteria into certain items in the fridge. Worked well, didn’t it? It's like riding a horse.”

“Are you insane! I prefer cons where I don’t need to get sick,” Neal held his stomach instinctively, “I’ve never been so ill in my life!”

“Well, that was the point. Don’t worry, I made sure your life wouldn’t be in danger. And now, you will keep pretending to be ill while we put a plan in action to leave the country. I wish I could have told you earlier, but I didn’t want to risk this reaction when you were over at the Suits’ house.” 

“And now you’re underestimating me. Pigs aren’t flying and I’m still good at lying.” 

“I am sorry. I may have overdone it a bit?”

“You think? I could testify to it in court.”

“Might I point out, to my defence, I had no idea you were going to consume so much cheese. So how are you?”

“Now you’re interested? I'm not in the mood. Some warning would have been nice.”

“The whole idea rested on plausible deniability so no, it couldn’t have been any other way. Viva Healthcare!”

“Okay, but you could have put less germs in my food!”

Mozzie winced, “I’m not a research scientist so I was guessing. Note to self, more in depth research of the pathogens next time.”

“Next time? Are you planning to poison me again soon?” 

“Only if your evasive manoeuvres don’t work on the Suit.”

“Regardless, Mozzie!” Neal protested. 

“No, yes! Is a few billion not worth a little stomachache?”

“Sure, if I knew what was going on and didn’t have to think that something was really wrong with me!”

“Well, now you know. I’ll give you a call when everything is in place and then you will need to make the excuse of not feeling well enough to be let away from work early.”

“When is this?”

“Within the next couple of weeks. Keep your alibi warm by claiming no appetite, nausea, an upset stomach, the likes.”

“It shouldn’t be hard,” Neal kept his hand on his abdomen. It’s not like he wasn't still experiencing those symptoms from time to time.

“You’ll thank me in the end, you’ll see,” Mozzie promised as he took off towards the door, “I’ve got things to do now that I know you’re on board!” 

“Am I?” The younger con artist plopped down on his couch once he was alone, feeling rather frazzled and puzzled.

Tbc


	8. Home Effort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Con Afoot

Chapter 8: Home Effort

“Are you up for this? I mean, there’s no rush. We can authenticate that will tomorrow just the same,” Peter regarded Neal contemplatively as he arrived at their agreed meeting place, “and I slept better when you were in the house cause I could see where you were!”

“You always say I should stop slacking too.”

“That might be, but I’m facing El’s wraith if you relapse and I am taking the warning! So no puking this time, understood?”

Neal held up his hands in surrender, “I’ll try to rescue your hide, whatever you need.”

“One other thing - come on. We've got a bit of a walk to the Roland Residence.”

“I don’t mind. Takes me out of my range too! Exciting stuff.”

“Hm,” Peter glanced over to make sure the younger man wasn’t unsteady on his feet, “we have time though, no rush.”

Neal of course, like the insubordinate headache he’s always been, started walking faster at once. Well, maybe it wasn’t faster than their usual pace, but it wasn’t what Peter had in mind. “We have twenty minutes,” the agent complained, “I don’t want to stare at the sculptures in the yard for too long if we get there too early. Not really my thing.”

“There are sculptures in the yard?” The criminal took interest. 

“There were some photos of the front of the residence with the case file so I think so, yes.”

“Are they valuable? Are they part of the will?” 

“I don’t think so. The estate was listed separately as far as I know and is not part of the ambiguous part of the will at the very least. So nothing to do with you, hands off!”

“I can look for research then,” Neal sped up his steps again. 

“Okay.” At this rate, Peter had to grit his teeth to keep up with him. He didn’t mind the exercise, but there was no reason for overdoing it. “Who would have thought you’d be so eager to see some random fountain decorations.”

“My reach was seriously compromised over the last few weeks if you remember?”

“Slow down, will you!” It was so typically Neal, eating life with two spoons at the same time. 

“Oh, come on now. Aren’t you eager? Don’t you want to see my skills in action again? I thought you lived for that stuff,” the criminal teased. With the speed he was going, he had to hold on to his hat. “It feels exhilarating to finally get to do something worthwhile.” Neal said, with full appreciation of being able to stretch out his legs.

“It better be. It took you forever to bother with returning to your job,” Peter jabbed back, though there was still some concern in it for how long it really took.

“It’s going to be a beautiful day! Another case solved, another case closed for your outstanding records,” the young man promised. He took a deep breath, truly taken with the moment and in his element in the bustling city. He was supposed to show physical weakness if he went by Mozzie’s suggestions, but he was too happy for that just yet. He felt a need to paint this feeling, immortalising the sun’s rays as they warmed his soul reflecting back from the side of New York buildings. It appeared in his mind’s eye. They would have to be bright colours, contrasting with the city’s grey and green with not a cloud in sight. He hasn’t decided on the focus though..

“Neal? Are you still alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? How are things going for you?”

“Because you haven’t said a word in minutes and I’m the one ahead of you now.”

“Oh sorry, don’t know, I was just thinking..” 

“About what? Your next heist? That intense?” 

“Yeah, I’ve seen all this wisteria on the buildings here and figured I may as well try to use them as ropes to get inside,” Neal countered the mild jest with his own. 

“I don’t like it when you go quiet, it’s a sign you’re up to no good, you know that. Also,” Peter looked him over, “you’re kind of pale.”

Pale. Neal didn’t think so or of any reason why he should be, but if Peter thought so, then it was a good time to start his charade about his allegedly still frail health. “No, I’m not. Honest.”

“How would you know, are you looking at yourself? Maybe you should consider slowing down.”

“Right,” the criminal made as if heeding the advice, but then came to a stuttering halt with a heavy exhale, bending over and folding his arms in front of his belly, “I will let you know how it goes.”

“Damn it Neal, do you ever listen?” Peter caught the hat in midair the consultant let fall off his head, “you didn’t, again.”

“Thank you,” the conman grabbed the hat off of him, “I’m alright,” he started walking again, albeit at a slower pace than before and still panting.

“So where are you going now?”

“To the shade over there to sit down for a little moment,” Neal scaled up a slope to get to it, then lowered himself gingerly onto the rim of a flower arrangement. Hands crossed over his stomach, he took some measured, deep breaths.

“Nausea, is it?” Peter studied him intently. 

“I can hold it back,” the younger man blinked up at him wearily, “you’ll be fine from Elizabeth’s wraith. Just give me a minute.” 

“You’re too stubborn and prideful for your own good,” the agent chided, sitting down next to him. 

“Just one moment, honestly..” Neal took slow, steadying breaths. 

Peter gave no protest this time, simply gave him the space and watched him with furrowed brows. “Don’t worry, we have time and even if we don’t..”

“I’m alright. I'm a criminal, we keep odd hours, I just didn’t sleep enough last night.”

“Why this time?”

Neal took a beat to answer, making his reply of an ambiguous nature, “Sara. It’s been a while since we could spend some time alone given how long I was practically living at your house.” It was a good starting point for the con. As much as he hated lying to Sara, knowing that Peter would cover all bases, he did make sure she thought he was still ill.

“Yeah, alright kid,” the special agent was more lenient with him after that announcement as well than he normally would’ve been in regards to the work etiquette of turning up at optimum capacity, but secretly vowed to call the insurance investigator and ask her of her opinion of Neal’s state of health from a more intimate perspective. It would be a valuable viewpoint and he could be sure Sara wouldn’t lie to him, at least not about Neal’s wellbeing.

“What do you say? Ready?” The younger man jumped up suddenly with a radiant, pleasant smile as if nothing had happened. 

“Sure. But I’m setting the pace this time,” Peter settled for a gentle stroll. Obviously, he will have to keep a closer eye on the boy at all times for now.

Tbc


	9. Wizard Experts

Chapter 9: Wizard Experts

“Sara?” Peter Burke made sure his office door was closed when he dialled the number, “hi.”

“Oh, Peter. Is everything okay?” The woman sounded a little hassled at the other end as if she were going somewhere out on the street. 

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know. That’s what I’d like to discuss if you have some time just now?”

The insurance investigator came to a halt on the pavement, making a couple of other people have to steer round her, “what’s wrong? Is Neal with you?”

“No, I sent him home early. We closed a case today that I need to finish paperwork on anyway so I didn’t want him hanging around for no reason.”

“That’s not like you,” Sara observed, taking up a slower pace than before her phone rang, “you’d make him do the paperwork other times, I’ve seen it.” 

“I’m not heartless. He was very ill just recently.”

“Right, yeah..” The insurance investigator agreed with sigh.

“So that’s why I’m calling. Do you think I should still be worried about him? How did he seem to you lately?”

“To be honest, I don’t think he’s well. I slept over the other night and he spent half the time in the bathroom and half moaning in his sleep. We were supposed to go out and have dinner but he isn’t eating very much either so I just left it and never mentioned it again.” 

Peter groaned, “so you’re worried about him too in fact?” 

“Definitely, yes. Why, did something happen at work today?”

“No, not really, just along the lines of what you’re saying. Something’s bothering me about it, I just don’t know what. He says he’s fine, but there are a million little things that tell me otherwise. A less than his usual hundred percent appearance like a tie that doesn’t match, sitting down at every chance, tiredness, no appetite, the absentminded he gets..it’s not like him.”

“None of his bouncy self, I know. Well, I mean he tries with me, but it’s not the same if you know Neal well. What does his physician say?”

“To take him back for tests if he’s still not well. I cannot make him admit to it though. You’d think he’d welcome a little more slacking, he’d usually angle for it, but no, not this time.”

“You can always force him to go back for a doctor’s visit. You’re his handler, it’s your say. It’s not as if you had a good track record of mutual trust lately, it’s ok to doubt him. You still think he took the treasure?”

“He was really sick and could barely stand at the end of that day..but it’s Neal. Anything’s possible. Oh, I was going to ask in regards to that, did you know he was sick, on those days leading up to the explosion?”

“He complained of a bad stomachache, yes. Had to cancel a date then.”

“What if that was a ruse because he was busy with planning the heist? He never said anything to me about not feeling well back then. You knew?” 

“Not a surprise, is it? Him not telling you.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences when it comes to Neal. Something really doesn’t add up, I can feel it. Good thing I can still count on you,” Peter appreciated their friendship and cooperating for work reasons as well at times. 

“I will find an excuse to go over sometime tonight and see how he is. He’ll not oppose that. Will let you know.”

“Great! Thank you Sara,” the agent gave a reassured sigh as he made another pact with the investigator. 

Tbc


	10. Bad Fellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the smut and fluff chapter.

Chapter 10: Bad Fellow

Given certain people’s tendency to simply burst into his loft apartment without any warning, Neal figured that he could read the leaflet about the new exhibition at the Gagosian in bed just the same as anywhere else. Sara would normally knock, but he just shouted that the door was open and that way he still allured to an air of convalescing when she walked in, looking for him. “Hey! Bad time?” The redhead frowned at his lounging during the workday.

“Not anymore!” Neal turned out of his covers and sat up, “care to join me? It’s too quiet in here.”

“Hm, what’s on offer, naughty boy?” Sara sat to run her hands over his shirtless torso sassily, appreciating the view, and captivated by it. 

“A lot more of that, don’t you worry,” the conman grabbed her and wrestled her playfully into bed. Their velvety kiss echoed the same note - they were always eager and impish, the tone implying a wish for a deeper connection that neither their rational self could afford to allow, for different reasons for each. 

Sara flipped her shoes off with the help of her toes and climbed atop of him provocatively, “I only came to see how you were.”

“Is that right? Hungry for you, that’s how I am. I can show you,” Neal breathed in deeply with a nod towards his privates that were already showing appreciation for the visit. 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” the woman ran her hand over the bump in his pajama pants, attempting to grab his growing appendage through the silken fabric he liked to sleep in.

“Are you satisfied?” The conman teased, his voice becoming hoarse at her irresistible ministrations. 

“Not yet,” Sara licked her lips in anticipation. Pulling his pants down was easy enough and he helped her out of her dress and underwear quickly. “Maybe we should put that sock on the doorknob in case Mozzie comes over,” she suggested halfheartedly. Her desire was stronger though and she marvelled at his well endowed manhood for a moment before touching it, eliciting a hungry groan from him. She leaned down to kiss it, eat it, run her tongue over the sensitive tip, his precum mixing with her saliva as she licked impishly. 

“That’s undeniably your favourite body part of mine’s, I take it,” Neal laughed, lit on fire by and squirming with the sensations her actions elicited. He reached for her clit, but his hand was butted away, “I’m in charge,” the investigator stressed, “you don’t work till you’re well.”

“Yeah, okay, but I’m not sick!” He had to protest. Pretences were all fine and well, but them interfering with his sex life was not so desirable. Mozzie will have to pay for his idea. 

“Then prove it,” Sara was thankfully ready for the pleasure game as well, not willing to deny herself the treat if she didn’t need to. 

Neal lengthened the naughty look they shared with each other and reached out to grind the heel of his hand against her clit. Sara had to suck in a quick breath at the sensation, feeling cherished and lost in the feeling while his fingers slid along and into her wet pussy. Neal roamed around with quick, vibratorlike movements, eliciting chaotic and overwhelming sensations in her that asked for more. The woman found it hard to speak or direct him or do anything, so she simply bit her lip and grabbed onto his shoulders firmly, only bucking deeper towards her source of pleasure. “Nooo,” she squirmed as he slowed down and she rekindled his rhythm by guiding his hand.

“So you don’t want me to rest after all?” He teased impishly, swept away by the moment himself.

Sara’s eyes opened, momentarily distracted from the sensations enough to utter yearningly, “I prefer your cock to fingers, actually.”

“It can be arranged,” the consultant slid his fingers deeper in one final preparation before adjusting his position and giving her a taste of his enlarged, smooth tip that teased her opening further, “Neal Caffrey, at your service.”

“No, no, no,” Sara contested his provocation by taking her fate into her own hands and easing herself gradually with deeper and deeper thrusts onto his shaft, eliciting a shiver that went through him. It made him pant before his breathing turned into eager, erratic and shaky moans. They took a moment to adjust, side to side and deeper, taking their time to take in and enjoy the sensations each bit of going deeper triggered. Sara pushed down on his pulsating member, all too much for one woman to bear, and yet never feeling like she had enough of him despite his size while he devoured her with similar eagerness, pulling her down, burying his face into her hair. He was working her hard as usual, even with her being on top, every muscle in his body rippling and contracting. He raised his hips with eager determination permeating his every plunge, consuming, almost rough, moans already satisfied even though they were both far from release. 

Legs squeezed tightly against him, Sara’s toes curled back in anticipation and her hips froze, immobile, her insides contracting eagerly in a subconscious effort to milk him. Neal muttered something gibberish in appreciation as usual, not even sure himself what and spent by the assault of the senses, let her take over the rhythm, whatever she wanted to do. Once recovered from her own overload, Sara wasn’t against frantic. The pressure was only building further and it forced her into a chaotic tempo, sometimes to roll around him, sometimes to press down. Conflicting overactive nerve firings rendered his senses momentarily numb and he had a moment of conscious thought, realising how this was the perfect time for possible effective finagling. Neal hesitated somewhat, torn between his idea and sexual pleasure, but then again, he was a professional conman and took pride in it. He forced himself to freeze too and put all his frustration into a pained moan, “no Sara, please stop, I can’t!” 

The redhead opened her eyes to see what the issue was, her expression confused, but gentle and attentive all of a sudden, sensing distress. “Neal?’ She questioned being pushed off and her partner turning to his side to curl up. 

“It's just…my stomach hurts, you kind of..dug into it with your hands,” he winced apologetically, “sorry”. 

“Oh god, I mean...I'm sorry…” Sara panted, trying to come down from her own sexual high as painlessly as possible. 

“No, no, I’m sorry. It’s better now. I should…at least let you enjoy it…” He reached for her, sliding his hand down her thighs towards her divine folds.

“Shh. Next time, it's not that important,” the investigator lay down next to him to wrap herself around him, concerned, stroking his hair, his back instead, aiming and eager to sooth. 

Neal moved to kiss her, chaste and apologetic, wriggling closer to press against her. In truth, he wanted to eat her swollen lips and it was so very unfair on her too not to. They were enticing and they made him linger, his tongue sliding into her mouth languidly, kiss deepening on instinct in the heat of the moment that still stayed with them. “I shouldn’t have just assumed you were up for everything,” Sara moved away a hair’s length’ to apologise too, squeezing his arm in an accompanying gesture. 

The consultant simply pulled her in for another kiss, not wanting to hear her words since none of this was Sara’s fault. Peter’s suspicious nature, maybe, but not Sara’s rap. Neal slid his hand down her buttocks, round her thighs, clearly aiming for her crotch, “at least let me help you out here, beautiful.”

“Are you sure?” Sara couldn’t help but press against his waiting, teasing hand with a lustful moan.

“Open for me, darling,” he whispered into her ear, out of breath for her maddening closeness, “I can do this,” he promised. 

“Mmm,” the redhead gave a flicker of her tongue, attacking his jaw as she moved against him, legs spreading as asked. His touch was rough, in line with how aroused they both already were and made her arch back, giving him access to bury his face into her breasts. She was so wet and inviting that his cock twitched with need. Maybe just forget the whole pretenses idea. As he considered, his shaft grew thicker, vibrating at the edge of pure pain, urging him to plunge into her core once more. He slammed it against her and squirmed, looking for some release of the tension. 

Sara looked gone with the flow, in a different world of pleasure and contentment as he worked her so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he just spilled his seed there and then. Neal’s fingers reached deeper and he pressed closer, his penis at her entrance, but not inside it. Still, it was a compelling little tight spot he could work with. The heat radiating through him went up a notch, driving him crazy with want, “I need you baby..” Neal was breathless in his yearning and prone to utter sweet nonsense.

“Are you alright?” Sara wasn’t sure if his changed demeanor suggested more distress or something else this time. 

“Don’t worry about me, just let me in,” he pushed her legs up against his chest and towered over her, heated cock aligned with her moist folds. His shaft found its own way in, slipping past her opening slowly, maddeningly, taking both their breaths away with its delectable friction, completing her. At once, Neal changed pace, thrusting with an insane, unwavering need. He lifted her hips up and melted into her, keeping up both their weights and doing all the work, original intentions be damned. His cum melted into her in a similar manner. He was spent and yet he made sure to cover her with kisses upwards as well as he moved to lie down next to her. 

“Are you alright?” The redhead repeated, not forgetting her concern as she scooped him into her arms for the afterglow snuggle. 

“I think I love you,” Neal answered instead, the moment not seeming like the right one for another lie or senseless flirting.

“Oh, Neal,” Sara was rather bewildered by the sudden admission, “I thought we were taking things one day at a time and see how everything goes?”

“Well, today I feel that. Another day or the next, I don’t know if I would say it. But I want you to know that, whatever happens.” The convict knew he was being melodramatic, but that was exactly the point he was trying to portray.

“Should something happen?” The investigator was suspicious, fixing apprehensive eyes at him. 

Neal sighed loud and heavy. He so hated misleading her, “it’s just being in hospital that got me thinking. Things in my subconscious that must’ve been there before. I should state how I feel so you know, that’s all.”

Sara buried her face into his chest lovingly with a relieved look, “you weren’t that ill. Or is there something else we should know? Something that Peter doesn’t know either?”

“I’m not fond of the mention of Peter in my bed during my sex life,” his fingers playfully teased her earlier slapdashly exposed nipples. 

“We’re both truly worried about you,” she caressed his chest in turn.

“Sorry you had to,” Neal meant it too, burying his face between her breasts, overtaken by embarrassment. 

“Neal, I’m serious,” Sara pushed him away icily, sounding more possessive than ever at the same time. 

“I promise that there’s nothing else to worry about, my ruling goddess,” the conman appeared serious too despite the playful tone, “I’ll prove it with a round two,” he ground his hips against hers. 

“Don’t push yourself, I don’t want you to,” she settled against him, “I’ll just give you one of those belly rubs that help.”

“I’m not against that, but for the record, I’d like to state that it’s not a dire medical need the same way as it had been in the past.”

“That’s okay,” Sara positioned her hand over his sculpted abs, smoothing down the little hairs there tenderly till she reached his belly button. Her thumb slipped in as if by chance and she idly drew circles in there. 

“Mmm, that’s nice,” Neal appreciated the effort and the way it felt too, then nestled in with a cursory sigh of questionable origins. 

“You wanted me to stop earlier,” Sara pressed for the agenda agreed on with Peter, of knowing more about Neal’s state of health, “are you feeling better now?”

“Yeah, it was just a bad cramp. I have them sometimes.”

“Do you have any pills you can take? I can get them if you want.” 

“Yes, I do, but it’s okay, I don’t need them right now,” Neal was feeling very guilty at this point for having deceived her. “It’s very sweet of you to worry though. I kind of like it, it’s very domestic of you.”

“Just don’t think too much into it,” Sara warned. They never really passed their awkward stage of dating, no matter how much she really cared for him. 

“Mmm,” the conman could not relax as the supposedly soothing massage of his belly awakened the rowdy snake again. He pulled the covers up for camouflage, “I’m a little cold.”

“Is it cold?” The redhead frowned, getting sleepy after the exertion, “I didn’t notice.”

“Can you stay for the night? Are you not busy?”

“I don’t see why not, you’re rather comfortable,” Sara wriggled a little and bristled with the next thought, “I’m not hurting you at all, am I?”

“Your touch does do wonders,” Neal complimented her, “I feel better already,” he implied there was something to feel better in comparison to.

“Good, I’m glad,” the pretty woman kissed his chest before settling back down with a smile. 

Tbc


	11. Dead Weight

Chapter 11: Dead Weight 

Neal soon found that the whole Muchhausen act was a balancing exercise, even the reasoning behind it. He had been conflicted about everything Mozzie had asked him to do, especially because the whole leaving idea hadn't been his and he wasn’t sure he was on board with it. So at first he only dropped a few hints here and there, like not being able to drink much more than a few sips of wine before getting an upset stomach, refusing food, not bringing anything from the bakery or disappearing into the toilet more often than it was necessary at the Bureau. It was half hearted but also calculated. Any more than that and Peter would have ordered him back for a check-up that would show up nothing. But after Sara gave him the boot the night before and Mozzie’s lecture of having to cut ties the day before, Neal knew that a little bit more finagle was needed from his part, just to keep everyone happy at a balance. The opportunity presented itself in the form of Jones’ tuna sandwich filling the van with an unpleasant smell. “Sorry, I can’t take this any longer,” Neal rushed out and managed to put his finger down his throat outside before anybody followed him out.

“Are you alright?” Diana stepped off the vehicle after quickly debriefing Peter.

“Yeah. It was just that smell in there,” Neal stepped away from his disgusting puddle of undigested coffee and breakfast roll.

“And your one is supposed to be better?” The female agent looked away from the mess.

“I assume it wouldn’t be the best idea to ask you to come back into the van.” Peter popped his head out from the steps.

“I’d say so,” the criminal agreed, “unless you have a top shelf air purifier in stock up there already installed.”

“You don’t need him anyway, apart from for poking purposes, right?” The female agent reminded him.

“That’s true,” Peter admitted, “look Diana, I know you had a long night shift, but any chance you could take him home?” He gestured vaguely in Neal’s direction, “I’m sorry I dragged you in this morning for no good reason.”

“No, no, no. Diana’s indeed suffered enough under your rule, I can take myself home,” the conman wasn’t keen on more thorough investigative looks. Somehow, he sensed that Diana would be harder to deceive than her superior. Peter had been blinded by too much concern and it did feel bad using and abusing that. “It’s just a small stomach upset,” he decided to say, “I can do it just fine.”

“And I’m able to be awake for another hour or so,” the woman declared, “Christie’s working anyway.” She stopped then, “she should take a look at you by the way.” 

“No, thanks, but I’m fine,” Neal did a little twirl with a flourish, “you see?” 

“I’ll talk to her anyway, to see if she has any ideas,” Diana was firm.

“You do that then,” Peter climbed back into the van, convinced the other two had the situation in hand. 

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t check already,” Neal commented while starting to walk back down the noisy street.

“Well yeah, you’re right. She said that in some circumstances, it could be normal to have symptoms weeks or months after a serious food poisoning incident, and she also said that most times those cases would need some additional treatment.”

“That’s great,” the young man was glad his case sounded plausible, though he felt like he could never trust the daughter of a diplomat not questioning his every move.

“So, you’re going to do something about it soon?” 

“Yes, thanks for the concern. I will book an appointment with my own physician.” Neal had no intentions of doing so, at least not before making sure he was provably unwell enough for it. Maybe Mozzie would have something up his sleeve that didn’t involve poisoning and risking his actual health. He slowed his steps, not wanting more intense scrutiny for the time being, “I feel like I should take a cab. Is that okay with you?”

It was Diana who signalled one down, “hey, don’t you think I’m not coming with you.”

“And into bed with me, agent Berrigan?”

“Peter would not forgive me if I didn’t tuck you in and made sure you were alright,” the woman held, opening the car door for him. 

“351 Riverside Drive, but make it slow, please,” Neal allured to feeling nauseous as he gave the address to the driver before leaning his head back with a hand on his stomach and loosening his tie with the other. 

“Don’t you dare puke in the cab,” Diana leaned close to his ear to whisper so the driver didn’t hear it and did not throw them out immediately, “we don’t even have a bag for it.”

“I don’t need it,” the other passenger assured, “it’s not like that anymore. I’m just tired of not being at my best.” With his eyes closed, he had little warning of his co-worker’s initiative of checking the verity of his words personally by unexpectedly placing a fisted hand on his stomach and pushing quite hard. 

“What the hell, Berrigan..” Neal leaned forward to curl around his stomach with a groan, “didn’t your girlfriend teach you how to properly examine someone! You said you didn’t want me to puke in here,” he hissed, grimacing. 

“Do we need to pull over now?!” The driver must’ve heard something. 

“No, I swear, just drive please. My friend was simply exaggerating,” the consultant assured. 

The driver tossed a paper bag at him anyway, “I’m warning you, I will charge more than double shall you get it anywhere inside the car!”

“I will make sure he doesn’t,” Diana opened the bag for him and placed it on Neal’s lap. Her hand remained reassuringly on his leg and she scooted closer, “let me..”

Neal batted her hand away as soon as it moved closer to his abdomen, “I’m not sure I could take another punch to the stomach without consequences. Maybe try another body part next time.”

“It was not a punch!” The woman rolled her eyes, but secretly decided to take better care of her charge. He obviously needed it. “I’m only intending to rub it a little, see if it helps?”

“Please don’t do that,” Neal was weary that the woman would notice that his stomach was not even tense. 

Of course Diana wasn’t one for listening and slid a hand under his suit. With a grunt and a sigh, Neal leaned back and closed his eyes, hoping that at least his uncomfortably fidgeting and flinching as the agent rubbed his belly gently would do the trick. “As fun as this is, it is a bit awkward, don’t you think?”

“We’ve already been in more awkward situations undercover. Caffrey,” she had an idea, “you can put your head down on my shoulder if that helps,” the brunette suggested. 

“I’d rather not. Your perfume is already making me nauseous from up close.” 

Diana rolled the windows down with her free hand, “you can just rest then,” she let him, continuing to rub his belly. 

Tbc


	12. Whine Shaft

Chapter 12: Whine Shaft

“Hey. Are you okay?” It was Diana who helped Neal off the floor after nearly being shot by Van Horn’s crossbow inside the Barrett-Dunne Security building. 

“Just another day at White Collar,” Neal let himself be helped up.

“You don’t look okay,” the brunette didn’t let go as she steadied him, “you’re rather sweaty actually. What’s up?”

“Always glad to hear your fun compliments, Miss potter,” the conman took stock of the state he was in. Panting and dishevelled from being chased, and shaky from his experience of having had a close shave, it did seem like another easy opportunity for exaggerating his condition and claiming the sickie. 

The diplomat’s daughter glanced over at Peter, who seemed too busy with the arrest to consider anything else so the responsibility of Neal would probably fall on her again. “Any nausea?”

“Who are you now? Just a little bit.”

“Well, alright, come and sit down on the steps for a moment,” Diana pulled him over.

Neal rubbed the sweat off his forehead and buried his face into his hand as he sat. The woman settled next to him, “I don’t think Peter needs you for anything else today. And if he does, I can just justify sending you home.” She was still frowning at the state he was in. 

“It would sure be a shame to puke on this pristine white uniform,” Neal wanted out of dodge as soon as possible. Playing these agents was always like walking on glass, he could fall through any time, especially with Diana. 

“I’ll call Christine. I’ll tell her you’ll pay her a visit this afternoon? For just an informal examination.” She kept her hand on his back for comfort.

“Did control issues Peter put you up for this?” 

“No. As you know, I have my own brain to do so,” the woman sighed as she typed some message into her phone for her partner. 

Neal sighed and rested his forehead on his arms, on his knees. This was getting out of hand. Of course Mozzie had prepared him for every eventuality, such as being cross-examined medically too and for that, there was always a capsule with him with bacteria he could pop anytime, but he wasn’t too keen on getting ill again voluntarily just for appearances and future time off where they could get a head start on disappearing when people thought he was off sick at home. Was this the time to pop the pill? “She’s asking if you’ve been vomiting recently,” Diana read in a no-nonsense voice.

“What’s recently in that context?”

“Neal.” The agent warned again.

The consultant lowered his head back onto his arm, where he shook it. “Or any other symptoms?” Diana continued.

“Just now? I’m a little dizzy and sick. Otherwise, no, not for a while.”

“She says we can go in now, seemingly she has got some time to assess you.”

Neal looked up uncertainly and reluctantly. This was not going to be a fun day. “Yeah, let me freshen up in the bathroom.” Everybody knew he would never want to look disheveled if he could help it, so privately popping that pill will not be an issue. He looked around, “do you know where it is?”

“It’s down the corridor.” Diana nodded in that direction. Of course she would know everything about the building in preparation for the take-down operation.

“Would you excuse me?” Neal’s politeness was second nature to him. 

“Sure,” the woman was still very attentive as she watched him get to his feet by holding onto the railing. “Easy,” she held out a hand, just in case. She followed him with her eyes, but while it looked like Neal didn’t need it as he went, he still wiped sweat off his forehead. 

“What’s going on?” Peter joined her, his attention more wide reaching now that his new prisoner had been taken away, “the excitement catching up to him?”

“It’s probably nothing, boss, but it seems like a good time to take him to get checked out like we talked about.”

“Thank you, Diana. Please keep me updated,” her boss walked past to attend his next task.

Tbc


	13. All Right Places

Chapter 13: All Right Places

Leaning against the bathroom wall, Neal was playing for time. As unkeen as he had been to take Mozzie’s special pill, there was no other choice at this point and now he had to wait for the effect of it messing up his insides. “Caffrey, are you alone in there? Can I come in?” It seemed like Diana was done waiting for him outside. 

“Yeah, just a moment..” He let her know unenthusiastically before opening the tap as if he were just washing his hands. 

“Are you alright?” Diana popped a head in. 

Neal slowly dried his hands, taking his time once more. First, to give the pill more chance to work and next, so he appeared fatigued. The silence between them was taxing, it was clear that he was scrutinised minutely. Neal avoided looking into her eyes, but in a calculated way, as if he were hiding pain and not a secret. There wasn’t much to pretend about, he was indeed starting to feel nauseous so it was time for one of his bright, self-assured smiles, “yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay then. Up for a car ride?” Diana knew that was always a problem lately, “or is it better if we walk? It’s not that far.”

“I think I ran out of things to throw up by now,” he let her know flippantly, falsely alluring to having been sick earlier, “and I’m a bit tired, so can we not walk, please.”

“It’s my own car, so watch it,” the agent warned despite feeling sorry for him, “now let’s go,” she stayed close as they went down the corridor, just in case he needed her support. 

“Everything alright?” Peter gave them a glance as well as they passed. His clouded expression showed concern and protectiveness. It made Neal feel guilty and his nausea worse. 

“I’ll handle it, not a problem,” Diana assured him again and then they were in the elevator that did open this time. Neal held onto the bar and leaned against the wall, playing into that creeping in queasiness and let it guide him. The sensations were there, he just had to overplay them, like swallowing hard. 

“What’s wrong, Neal?” His babysitter paused as he stopped by a trash can in the lot, holding on to its edge and breathing hard. 

“I may have been incorrect about having ran out of things to throw up,” he let her know with rushed words. 

“That’s okay, I have plastic bags in the car.”

“You probably put them in there purposefully for me,” Neal accused. 

“I may have done that. You know me so well. Will you be alright going if we have those?”

“Thanks. I don’t know, probably,” the conman ran a hand over his face tiredly. He took a deep breath, let go of the trash can, staggered into the passenger side of Diana’s car, leaned against the door and tried to keep as still as possible with the world moving. Nausea was becoming a real issue.

“Too bad I can’t rub your stomach while driving,” the agent called and Neal didn’t open his eyes to see her facial expression and how serious she had been saying that. She was most likely teasing.

“I would open a window for air as I can see you’re focussed on not throwing up, but your head might fall out the way you’re sitting,” she wasn’t sure which situation he preferred. 

“Mmm, just leave it,” Neal was starting to question if he should fraternise with Mozzie at all in the future. He was dizzy and his stomach was starting to seriously hurt again. 

“Christie says she will be waiting for us in the car park,” Diana aimed for a free space, looking around and Neal found it surprising they were already at their destination. Has he been so deep in thought? He was also surprised by the helping hands that got him out and how strangely in the clouds and fog he felt. One of the girlfriends had a hand around his waist and he wondered why he needed it, but he was feeling too queasy to tempt opening his mouth and question it. The touch steadying him was tender, but firm. 

“What are we going to do with you?” Diana’s voice was worried. “Christie, you need to promise me to fix him. This can’t go on like this any longer, we need him fit at the office.”

“Is that the only reason you’re concerned?” Regardless, Neal couldn’t not feel valued. It was too bad he didn’t have a valid reason. 

Tbc


	14. Grill Territory

Chapter 14: Grill Territory 

Sitting in an examination room in Christie’s ER, Neal was above all confused. Sure, Mozzie’s pill had promptly made him sick and thus above suspicion, but why was he doing this again? He did not want to deceive his friends, especially as he wanted to keep those friends. The conman winced and tensed in earnest as Diana’s girlfriend palpated his abdomen. “Alright, so we have a tender upper left quadrant, a low grade fever and vomiting,” Christine summarised, “how long have you had that?” She squinted her suspicion that it was a long time. 

“Since almost being shot through by a deadly arrow.”

“Come on,” Diana complained instead of her girlfriend, “you must’ve had it before that.”

“I did not,” The Cl told the unlikely sounding truth. 

“Is he having a relapse, is that it?” The agent asked her partner instead, for more truthful facts. 

“I ordered some bloodwork, we’ll know more after,” the doctor advised, “just take it easy till I’m back,” she smiled at Neal in a more than doctorly manner while departing. 

The criminal let out a shaky breath, “I’ll be good, and thank you.”

“Actually, what are the chances of that happening,” Diana commented. 

“Slim to none, but are you still going to babysit me here? Doesn’t a Harward graduate have better things to do with her time?”

“As much as you like the attention around, I’m going to make a phone call. You okay to wait?” She checked if she could go. 

“It’s all fine.”

“Fine as in just polite, satisfactory or well?”

“Somewhere between satisfactory and polite.”

“Okay, that will have to do for now.” Diana’s phone call was to her boss of course. “Is he alright?” Was the first thing Peter said when picking up.

“Christine doesn’t seem worried. I can come back to the office right away.”

“No, I want someone there with him. This whole thing is my fault. I pushed him too hard again when he wasn’t ready.”

“It’s not your fault and he isn’t that unwell anyway,” she smiled at her girlfriend from across the desk. Maybe staying around for a bit wasn’t so unimaginable after all. She sauntered back leisurely to Neal’s bed to wait for the blood test to find him carefully rubbing circles against the centre of his abdomen, sporting a pretty disgusted face. “Should I get you one of those discardable basins to vomit in?” Diana checked, attentive to his possible needs.

“Mm, I’m not sure.”

“Well, just in case,” the woman reached over for one and looked for the best place to put it given the tight ball Neal had gotten himself into. “You need to relax a bit,” she encouraged, settling in behind him on the bed where there was more space to reach his belly from behind. “Your stomach is very tense.”

“I’m sorry I’m not perfect at all times,” he grumbled. 

“I’m glad you admit it,” she gently kneaded her knuckles against his undeniably churning and cramping belly, “tell me if you're going to be sick. I wouldn’t like to be covered in it, I’m sure you understand,” she cautioned him leniently. 

“It would be no fun for me either, but I give you my word.” Neal felt exhausted already, certain that what he had intentionally swallowed was wreaking havoc on his system. He wanted to shout and scream at Mozzie, do it all back. His insides were twisting fiercely and there was an oblivion of pain that made him whimper. He closed his eyes against his swimming vision and tried to take the comfort his co-worker’s hand offered. 

“Neal? Do you need me to stop? Call the nurse maybe if you want?” She reacted at his gasp.

“No, cause it doesn’t hurt worse than before.” That was a patent lie. The con was obviously working, way too well and Neal was starting to panic and sweat. His stomach hurt way too much, it made him tremble with the cramps. He tried to freeze into the position he was in to stop it. If Mozzie didn’t kill him, he will kill Mozzie. He couldn’t even hear Diana anymore and it was way too bright. His gullet was burning, the next cramp he had to ride out was even more painful than the last, and he felt wetness in his eyes. How embarrassing. 

“Here we are, I’m just getting ready,” Christine appeared with the kit to draw the blood, “should I be jealous of you?” She referred to the position she’d found them in. 

Diana stood swiftly, but only to pull her girlfriend aside to whisper, “I didn’t realise it before, but I think he’s in a lot of pain.”

“I’m on it,” the doctor reassured with a look due to the lack of being able to touch her, having already put her latex gloves on for the procedure, “give me an arm please?” Christie prompted Neal to take an arm away from his belly. Moving that much triggered another cramp that brought his vision dimming with it this time and he was pretty sure that his offered hand was shaking. 

The doctor stared at the monitors for a while, “alright, I will do this quickly, then ask for the results back on an urgent basis,” she noted how much paler he had gotten in just a few minutes. By this point, Neal wanted to ask for something for the pain, but he couldn’t as much as speak. His stomach was hurting so much he didn’t think there was another level to get to. He couldn’t move either, not with the iron fist in his belly grabbing his intestines, holding him in a vice. It was the only reason he didn’t cry out, he couldn’t. Christie seemed aware of it though as some more substances were administered, he was wheeled somewhere and then he knew no more. 

Tbc


	15. Crime and Punishment

Chapter 15: Crime and Punishment

When Neal woke, his abdomen was still curling tight into an all encompassing cramp, but at least he could whimper his plight. “Oh, Neal,” Peter rose from his chair where he was reading some file to rush over, placing a supporting hand on his arm, “and what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I don’t like this,” the criminal whined, gritting his teeth.

“Well, of course you don’t. Who would.”

“Yeah...Did you speak to Christie?” Neal was worried something will look amiss. 

“Yes. Damn right I did. She says not to worry too much just now, luckily for us you’re going to be fine. No cases and missions till you’re hundred percent. And I promise that.”

“Peter, I don’t feel very good,” Neal groaned, worried this time that he had overdone it and the tests weren’t picking up on the dire straits he was in. 

“I’m sorry, kid,” the agent was sincere, “do you need anything? Water? Ice?”

“A new stomach maybe.” Never to have met Mozzie. Neal was vaguely aware that he looked like he was about to start crying.

Peter shook his head, “I’ll see if they can give you something to sleep better, or at least relax,” he straightened to set his promise into motion.

“I can’t, it hurts,” Neal struggled to take a breath that didn’t set off a new wave of agony. It was all he could concentrate on till the agent returned with Christine. 

“Okay, is the pain getting worse?” The doctor towered over him as she checked his temperature with a hand held thermometer to which Neal whined his ‘mmm’ as a yes.

“Yeah, I’ll order some morphine,” the beautiful woman promised, considering the interaction over with as soon as she checked Neal’s current vitals. 

Peter however wouldn’t have it, “one thing though, I would like something more done for him this time,” he was firm.

“I can assure you, we’re taking care of him. Neal does not need surgery at the moment, and his immune system doesn’t seem compromised either. He is not in any danger. I will make sure to get him comfortable as well as soon as possible. I have put down a request for tests to establish if he has Crohn’s or maybe IBS and with those it’s not unusual to have pain that seems alarming, yet it doesn’t always equate to an emergency. I will be back with the medication in a moment. For in the meantime, in my experience, stomach massages seem to alleviate symptoms of sufferers of similar afflictions.”

“Stomach rubs? I don’t want to sound rude, but that cannot be your only medical recommendation.”

“We’re taking care of the medical side. My medical recommendation is for you to relax, or I’ll administer you something as well,” she jested. 

“Are we sure? I think there’s something wrong too,” Neal whined as soon as Christie was out of sight.

“Apparently not?” Peter soothed, “but I could rub your stomach as I was told if you’d like.”

“Don’t you dare,” his charge panted, “I couldn’t cope with that too on top of everything.”

“That’s what I thought,” the agent sat on the bed to be comfortingly close, “so you just want to wait for the morphine? Should be soon, I’m certain Christine will make sure.”

“Mmm, fun,” Neal was embarrassed by how much he was affected. 

Of course Peter was never one for listening, so he scooted a little closer and slid a hand onto Neal’s churning belly. “Diana told me it helps you too.” However, he did wait to see if the younger man, or more like his stomach would protest the hand’s presence.

“You both enjoy talking about me and embarrassing me,” Neal accused, but did not indicate in any way that he was opposed to the treatment, “more than Jones.”

Peter was gentle as he rubbed small circles round the middle of Neal’s abdomen, as much of it as he could cover with his consultant still curled up, “is this okay for you?”

“Yeah, it somehow does help, thanks. Perhaps by confusing the nerve endings.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter why,” Peter stepped aside to give room for the returning doctor, “I can continue in a moment if you like.” Waiting for the drug to have effect, Neal had decided definitely and unequivocally. He will tell Mozzie he’s playing no more, especially not these kinds of games. He wanted to stay in New York anyway.

The End.


End file.
